


From Wild Moor, to Fair Glen

by EscaCorina



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Best Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Hate to Love, Misunderstandings, Rival Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 17:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15779031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EscaCorina/pseuds/EscaCorina
Summary: One day Rowena Ravenclaw is approached by her best friend, Helga Hufflepuff, who poses the idea of starting a school of magic! Trouble is, she's recruited the help of the notorious Godric Gryffindor and his mysterious companion, Salazar Slytherin, and they all have their own ideas of what the new school should be.Rowena has her reservations of this wild scheme, especially where Gryffindor is concerned. Perhaps she will learn to trust, to forgive her past, and forge a new future full of potential, even love...





	1. Chapter 1

_ On a cool summer’s day, in a glen in the Scottish Highlands, sometime in the 10th century… _

 

“A  _ what _ ?” 

Of all the reasons Rowena’s dearest friend, Helga, could’ve had for traveling all the way to the Highlands, this was not one of them. She paused a moment in picking another magenta flower from the thistle, brow furrowed slightly.

“A school!” Helga repeated, bouncing -  _ bouncing  _ \- in place with their basket in hand. If she didn’t stop that foolishness, she’d drop all their day’s pickings. “Rowena, think on it. Have we not dreamt of a safe haven for our kind? I daresay this is our answer!”

The jolly, smiling young woman kept up with her friend as Rowena moved along, placing more wild herbs in their basket. Rowena shook her head. “A school? Have you any inkling of what must needs go into building one? We have no land, no coin, no experience-”

“Ah! That is where you’re wrong!” Helga chirped. Chirped! “You are a teacher, Ro. As am I.”

Rowena thought she’d lose her head from all the shaking she did with it. “I give young witches some wisdom and advice whenever they come to me needing guidance,” she amended.

Helga actually snorted. “Oh pish posh - you teach them charms and enchantments. Don’t make that face! I’ve seen your influence all throughout the highlands down to the southernmost islands. They whisper your name on the winds: ‘Lady Rowena Ravenclaw, clever witch from glen…”

“They don’t.” Rowena turned her face away, hiding behind her long mane of raven hair. She continued alongside the banks of the river, stooping to pick some grass she knew worked well in making medicine. “As I said, I merely give out advice, and you merely hand out your recipes.”

“Magical recipes,” Helga said with a grin. “That’s not all of it, Ro. I have students who come to learn the art of magical cookery, and I know many more would come to our school if we joined together. Your charms, my delicious enchantments, Godric’s duelings-”

“Godric?” Rowena stopped so fast Helga ran right into her back. She whipped around just as quickly to face her friend. “Godric Gryffindor?”

Helga nodded fervently. “The very same. Have you not heard of him? He’s an English wizard down in the moors.”

“I know who he is.” Rowena snapped at Helga a bit too fiercely. She cleared her throat, calming herself. “What does he have to do with any of this?”

And there it was - that guilty, knowing look. The way Helga dug her foot into the dirt, trying to keep her eyes anywhere but at Rowena’s face, to avoid the scathing stare Rowena was sure she wore. Helga pursed her lips the slightest bit.

“Well…” She began, and that’s all Rowena needed to hear.

“He knows of this plot.” It didn’t take the cleverest witch to divine that.

“I may have mentioned it to him, aye.” Helga had the audacity to smile like the cat who caught the rat.

Rowena took the basket from her, then held her hands warmly. “Helga, I love you, I do, but...Godric Gryffindor?”

“Is something amiss with him?”

“Aye, there is! He’s an Englishman!” Rowena was unable to keep the shrill pitch from her voice, but it was necessary. She didn’t feel so level headed at the moment. If Helga was serious, this was not the time for trifling.

“What has that got to do with anything?” Helga frowned.

“Everything!” Rowena released Helga’s hands. “Englishmen like him are naught but arrogant, pompous, vain knaves who’d love to lord over a respectable Scot.” She’d stomped away, but she could hear the soft chortling coming from Helga. “You mock me?”

“Nay, nay-” Helga took a second to compose herself, though now she seemed to have a giggling fit. “He is but a man, Ro.”

“Men are the greatest cause of suffering.” Rowena folded her arms in her sleeves. “If not the sole cause.”

Silence fell between them, and Rowena contented herself with the gentle rustling of the wind over the valley, the soft lapping of rushing water. The highlands held so much beauty, so much history, which could not only be seen in the scenery, but in its people.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder, and then Helga stood at her side. “My dearest friend, trust me in this. Please.”

It was the please that undid her.

Helga truly was one of the best gifts the hills and magic had ever brought to her. She had been Rowena’s closest friend and confidant since they’d been wee lasses.

“At the very least, come meet him. We shall have a talk, the three of us,” Helga offered with a gentle smile.

Sighing heavily, Rowena finally gave in. “Och, very well. We’ll have words.” A pause. “And we shall have them on Scottish soil. I’ll not defile my slippers by setting a single toe on English ground.”

That brought another smile from Helga. “I’ve a good feeling about this.”

Rowena felt nothing but dread.

\-------------------

A week later, Rowena found herself with a mighty headache, rubbing her temples as she paced her small cottage that sat in the foothills of the valley. “One Englishman was one too many, and now we have another!” 

Godric Gryffindor had arrived posthaste after receiving the letter Rowena and Helga had sent by owl. Yet he’d not come alone, as had been expected. Rather, he’d brought along a friend. His closest friend, in fact, which made it impossible to throw him out. Helga had insisted against it.

The friend was a man named Salazar Slytherin. What a horrible, ugly name, and he had a visage to match it. Rowena swore that he was much, much older than Godric, which made her wonder how they’d met and become friends in the first place.

As if he hadn’t heard her, Godric stepped forward, attempting to take her hand and kiss it, as was customary, but Rowena backed away, out of reach. Still, the slight didn’t faze him. He smiled bright, eyes filled with a passionate fire.

“My Lady, ‘tis an honor! Sal and I have heard many tales of your beauty, your grace, your charm-” 

“All womanly traits to be mightily praised, surely,” she interrupted with a curl of her lip, folding her arms in her sleeves again.

Godric smiled boyishly. “Possessing a sharp wit and tongue as well.”

“Hmph.” Rowena narrowed her eyes at him. “Enough with your empty flatteries. You know why you’ve come.” What she wanted to know were his reasons for agreeing to this entire affair. “Why?”

Godric clapped his large hands together, exchanging a quick look with his slimy friend before he turned his charming smile on Rowena once more. “We believe a school of magic is what our people needs. As Helga told me, ‘twill be a safe place, a space to hone our skills and share our knowledge-”

“Expand our power,” Salazar added. His voice was smooth and clear, in direct opposition to his appearance. Rowena had expected him to have a scratchy, rough, grating voice. This was worse.

“Aye, that.” Godric swallowed. “There is so much we can learn from one another, if we all came together as united witches and wizards. We are so divided, spread out among the lands, that we are rendered vulnerable. In this time of strife, we magic folk must act as one, for the common good.”

Rowena listened closely without even realizing it. That was the kind of attention and influence Godric wielded, which just words! No wonder he was one of the best duelists around- with wand and sword. Aye, she’d heard stories of him, just as he’d heard of her. He was known for his prowess in combat, for his unyielding bravery. Now that she was in his presence, hearing his words, she understood why he commanded such respect.

Everything he’d said was true, and she couldn’t help but feel the same. This was indeed a perilous time for witches and wizards like them. Cleverness had gotten her thus far in life, without a battle wound and with her head intact.

Rowena considered Godric Gryffindor. He was a young man, though he had grown a large beard that matched his equally long mane of red hair. Yet he spoke like a man twice, or even thrice, his age.

“Are you a teacher, Sir Godric?” She asked. Helga hadn’t revealed much of the man to her. He was a warrior, that she did know.

“I’ve taught on the battlefield. Combat is a skill taught as easily as spells.” He spoke with a fierce confidence she could almost feel.  Impressive.

Rowena nodded, then turned her attention to his friend. “And you? What is your stake in this?”

Salazar lounged in her best chair, hands resting on his crossed legs. He looked every inch a haughty king. Enough ambition fit for the crown.

“I too desire to further the skills and power of our kind. Our people have been hunted and degraded for far too long.” He had a wicked gleam in his eyes. “A school is what we need. We will be untouchable.”

“We can have a bit of fun with it!” Helga chimed in, bouncing on her feet.

Rowena’s brow raised.

“Some healthy competition between the students, to motivate them!” She explained with a wide smile.

“Competition?” Godric’s grin mirrored Helga’s. Oh dear. “Aye, a fine idea!”

Rowena sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. There were other details that needed finessing and discussion, but for now, this would do. “Are we all in agreement then?” She posed to the others.

“Aye!” Godric and Helga answered at the same time. Salazar quietly nodded.

“Then let us begin.”


	2. Chapter 2

This was it. This was the place. 

Rowena stood at the top of a craggy cliff deep in the highlands, far enough from her own home that she wouldn’t be disturb by prying eyes. The cliff overlooked a dark, inky loch, as treacherous as it was inviting. Magic permeated the air here, it was isolated...perfect.

While Helga and the Englishmen had been busy discussing their visions of what should be taught at their school, what kind of students they wanted, and what the motto should be, Rowena had gone off on her own in search of a suitable location. As important as those other worries were, there couldn’t be a school without a school grounds.

Let the flock squabble over ideals and the like; Rowena had work to do.

With a basket in one hand, wand in the other, she walked around the cliff, removing debris and buried stones that would otherwise cause the school to be uneven and ultimately unsteady. Tedious work thought it may be, it quieted her mind, allowed her to merely be in the moment. When everything was calm, when the wind barely whispered through the valley, when the grass rustled, Rowena could appreciate the beauty of her home, remind herself that she was a Scot, that no one else-

“This is where you’ve hied yourself off to?” Came a deep voice from behind.

The sudden break in her concentration caused her to stumble at the edge of the craggy cliff, but then a set of strong hands around her waist pulled her back from certain doom. The moment she righted herself, she backed away from Godric Gryffindor.

“Was this your plot all along? Frighten me to my death?” Rowena snapped at him as she pushed her long braid back over her shoulder.

And damn the man if he didn’t just throw his head back and laugh heartily. His was a throaty laugh, coming from deep within his core. If she’d been made of weaker stuff, she would have laughed right along with him. But she was a Ravenclaw, and she wasn’t amused.

“State your affairs, then leave. I’ve no time for distractions this morn,” Rowena told him with a dismissive wave of her hand as she continued with her work. She could hear his heavy footsteps following close by.

“What is it that you’re doing, my lady?” Godric asked, narrowly avoiding a rock that flew from under the soil and into Rowena’s basket.

“I’m preparing the ground for our mighty keep,” she answered without pausing in her work.

“By gathering rocks and sticks?” He sounded more than skeptical. 

“Aye.”

“Last I recall, my lady, keeps are built with stone and pitch.” She could practically hear the smile in his voice. “Would that not be a fine way to start?”

It took a great effort to keep herself from glaring at him. “Sir Godric.”

“Aye?”

“Have you ever built a keep?”

“Nay, lady.”

“Have you ever seen one built?”

“...Nay, but-”

“Then speak no more and leave me in peace.”

That deterred him in no way, as he continued to follow her. “Mayhap you could enlighten me on the matter?”

“A strong keep is only as steady as its foundation. One loose rock and the entire structure is compromised, and then where will our school be?”

Godric stroked his beard, thinking. “Not here?”

“At the bottom of the loch,” she finished for him.

“Is that not what our magic is for?” Now he was grinning. “You’re doing the labor of Muggles when all it takes is a swish and a flick.”

“Our school needs to abide by the laws of nature as much as the laws of magic, good sir.” Rowena stopped, holding her heavy basket close. “Aye, we can build up the keep and stack it all up with magic, but we still need to make the stones and the bricks. Magic relies on making something out of something, not nothing. That would be an impossibility.”

“Saints be praised for your shrewd mind, lady, else we would be lost,” Godric smiled down at her. “How did you come by this knowledge?”

“Mere observation. You should try it sometime, Sir Godric.” She pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t be tempted to mirror his contagious smile. He was like Helga in that way - so optimistic and jovial to the point of being irresistible.

Godric laughed again. “I shall endeavor to do so, lady.”

“See that you do.”

And, that would have been that, if Rowena had any choice in the matter. Helga would have understood her need for silence, at least for a goodly while before her desire to speak outweighed her desire to appease her friend. Unfortunately, Godric didn’t seem to have any tact at all and needed to fill up every second with speech. He asked her about the day, how she’d come to live alone in a solitary cottage, how she’d found this exact spot, how she’d first come to realize her power, and on and on and on.

To be entirely honest, she didn’t want to speak of herself. That was her least favorite subject.

“Sir Godric, I daresay the rumors of you have circled around the highlands,” she interrupted, hoping he’d take the bait. Like a typical man, he did.

“Have they? Pray tell, what are these rumors?” The way his face lit up made him look a score younger.

Rowena glanced at his person, gaze landing on the sword he kept belted to his waist. “Some say your sword takes on the magic and strength of those you slay.” As a warrior, she was sure he’d slain hundreds. Bloodshed was not her cup of tea.

Godric grinned as he unsheathed his sword, holding it up so the light glinted off the blade just right. He swung it in an arc away from her, then pretended to fend off an invisible enemy. “This blade has seen fewer lives than you’ve been led to believe, my lady. ‘Tis but a blade.”

“An enchanted blade that feeds off of souls.”

His booming laugh echoed around the valley. “I don’t need to take a life to imbue the blade with power. A defeat works well enough, for it is nigh on a death.”

“Equating defeat to death is rather dramatic,” Rowena drawled in a wry tone.

“Defeat can be worse than death.”

“Worse in what way?” She set down her basket of debris.

“Naught is worse than the death of one’s pride in the face of failure.” Godric went so far as to place his hand over his heart. Dramatic indeed.

Rowena scoffed. “You men and your pride. You prize the idea of honor and valor more than you value real lives. Saints forbid you fall in the mud at your enemy’s feet, yet praise be to all when you’ve put his head on a pike.”

Godric opened his mouth to possibly retort, but then he stopped to think for a moment. Another moment passed, then another.

Then he smiled that sunny, boyish smile. “Perhaps you have it aright, my lady.”

Rowena inclined her head, then swept him a mocking bow before she went back to her work.

“Care to try it for yourself?” He asked, offering her his wicked blade.

“Godric, even your saints couldn’t tempt me to hold your sword. Not now, nor ever.”


End file.
